Maternal Issues
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: Dave gets an unexpected guest at his apartment: his own mother, seeking forgiveness from the son she wronged. .:. Another LVB/U oneshot. Takes places after all the others, and before the final oneshot. Established Dave/Kurt.


**A/N: And here is the second before last oneshot of the La Vie Boheme universe, once again in Dave's POV, directly linked with 'Galactic Academy.' Enjoy. C:**

* * *

There's a sudden knock on the door that jars me from a power nap on the sofa. I shoot into sitting position with a snort, my eyes blinking a few times to rid myself of that heavy-eyelid feeling.

"I'm coming, I'm coming…" I yawn as I stand, stretch my legs with a little bounce on my toes and down again, and finally make my way over to the apartment door. "Did you forget your keys again, Kurt?" I joke as I don't even bother to peer through the peephole and automatically throw open the slab of wood.

My lips part, jaw falling open slightly, as I gape at the person awaiting me. It's my mother, her eyes puffy and pink as if she had been crying, and one of her hands is desperately clutching the cross necklace dangling around her neck.

"M-Mom?" I sputter, taking half a step backward to let her inside. She enters without a word, and as soon as I shut the door behind her, she turns and grabs me. I suddenly find myself in the fiercest hug I've ever shared with someone.

"I'm so, _so_ terribly, utterly, _shamefully _sorry, David. Please, _please _forgive me. I don't know what I was thinking; you're my _son. _My one and only offspring, the last little piece I have left of Paul, and I was about to completely let you go, _poof!_ Out of my life forever. Why did I do that? Why did I hurt you so? I'm sorry, David… please forgive me, _please,_" my mom begs, pleads, implores with her very heart and soul as fresh tears burst from her and she buries her head in my shirt.

The initial shock wearing off, her words finally reach a comprehending level in my head, and I don't think twice about it as I wrap my arms around her. I pet her hair and hush her with soothing _shh-_ing sounds, and repeatedly mumble that it's okay, it's all right, I forgive her.

Because as pissed as I had been about her… she's still my mom. She's still the woman who gave birth to me and raised me, and if she comes here looking for full redemption and feeling remorseful, who am I to turn her away?

She shakes her head against me, snuffling loudly. She pulls back, and she's still pretty in that weird way a middle-aged woman is when she cries; that pathetically, tragically beautiful way. "No. No, it's not okay. I was so cruel. And ever since I said those things to you, everything has been going horribly for me. It must be a sign, I realized. God is telling me not to shun my flesh and blood, and to love and accept you for who – and what – you are. I was such a fool before, but I swear I know better now. So do you _really_ forgive me?"

"Of course, Mom," I murmur softly, reassuringly. I touch a hand to her bony shoulder – has she been eating right lately? – and use the other to tilt her chin upwards to look into my eyes. "You're my mother. I love you, even if I get angry at you sometimes. And since you're _this_ sorry, I forgive you." I drop both of my hands. "I'm actually extremely touched that you bothered to come all this way and say all of this to me in person. That took guts, Mom."

She waves it away. "Yes, well… I just couldn't stand not seeing you anymore. I miss my baby. And you never did anything wrong by me… And it took me a long, long time to process that. To… wrap my mind around the fact that you can't help being the way you are."

I nod sheepishly. "It's true," I confess quietly. "I mean, I _tried_ to choose, Ma. I tried to pick being straight, but it just… didn't work out. I was lying to myself, and it made me hate myself more and more each day."

She nods gruffly, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "See, I was afraid of that. I got thinking about how you might feel in all of this, and I realized how much of a struggle it must have been for you. I've been going over it time and time again for the past few months since I saw you last. I just – I couldn't, and I had to…" She shakes her head, suddenly lost for words. She glances up at me (trying to read my face, I think). "David, sweetie? I'm going to try and be a better mother to you from now on. I'm going to try and listen, and I'm going to try and get used to… your living arrangements. I still care about you, so I'm going to try."

"That's all I could ever ask for, Mom," I say in all honestly.

Out of the blue, Kurt stumbles into the apartment, a few grocery bags in his hands, his keys still in the lock on the door as his eyes scan the scene before him. Blinking, he seems to comprehend the situation, and quietly moves into the place, sets the bags down, retrieves his keys, and starts talking as he removes his light jacket.

"Hello, Mrs. Karofsky. It's unexpected to see you here, but I'm so glad; it looks like you and your son are on sturdier terms now, yes?" he remarks with one of his warmer smiles as he shrugs his jacket onto a chair and makes his way over to the distressed woman. He opens his arms, waiting for a physical greeting of some sort.

My mom studies him for a moment. Then, softly, she murmurs in reply, "No wonder my son likes you. Here I am, barging my way into your home and, for all you know, I could still have a grudge against you. But you're nothing but sweet to me, even when I don't deserve it."

"I can assure you, my attitude is entirely renewed. I wasn't like this when I first re-met your son; I actually was quite the bitch to him for a while, because I didn't think he – to use your word for it – deserved my pleasantries. But… a lot has changed. And judging by the look on his face – " And Kurt smiles knowingly at me, "– I knew that things were fixing themselves already, so I knew not to be cruel or calculating. Besides, if you recall, I wasn't malicious towards you before anyhow. After all, if not for you, I wouldn't have your son by my side, and for that, I'm somewhat eternally grateful to you," he jokes, but there's a seriousness behind his words that makes my heart skip a beat.

My mother's tears return with a vengeance, and suddenly she's moving into Kurt's inviting arms. "Oh, dear," my mom blubbers a little as she pulls out of the hug, "I don't know how much more of this I can take. I felt sick to my stomach on the way here, worried things might turn out badly because of the way I acted, and I didn't eat a thing, but… it was all over nothing. I'm so relieved I could pass out."

I chuckle a little at that, coming up behind her and clapping a hand over one of her shoulders. "Oh, come on, Mom. I've been there, but you really shouldn't stress yourself like that. Human beings by nature are pretty loving, you know. It just takes time for some."

"Like me," she murmurs.

I wince. "Actually, I meant like _me, _but that works too."

Kurt laughs, his smile for both of us. He gestures to the groceries. "Why don't we change the dinner plans, Dave? We can skip the frozen pizzas and I could make that big meal we were planning for Saturday. You can help while your mother lies down for a while. It must have been quite the drive all the way up here; I bet you hardly stopped at all," he adds in my mother's direction.

She nods tiredly. "Only three or four times to use the restroom or get another coffee or water bottle. But overall…" She lets herself drift off, knowing that it doesn't need to be said how tired she is. I get that. And I also know her; she's been like this before after a long car ride when we went to visit our family in a more southern state before. With a small smile, though, my mom states, "It's a wonder what you're going to make; I bet whatever it is, it'll be delicious. You look like the sort who can cook."

"Your son can, too, you know; which is why I'm having him help me out on this one," Kurt adds with a wink. He looks at me and nods his head in the direction of the kitchen. "Come along then, David. Let's get cooking." To my mom, he says gently, "You can use the bed to lie down, if you want. I just changed the sheets yesterday, and the room should be relatively quieter than our bustling food preparation out here."

"No, the couch is fine. I want to be able to wake up again to eat," she says dryly. "In a bed I'd get too comfortable and might turn into the Sleeping Beauty, minus that last part."

"Oh come on, Mom," I say with a roll of my eyes, "You're plenty beautiful. Now shut up and do as the doctor orders. Rest," I tell her.

She smiles at me, patting my arm for a passing moment. Then she's on the couch, her forearm flung over her eyes to block out the light as she attempts to rest.

Meanwhile, Kurt and I are making a mess in the kitchen. We're trying to season and put into the oven a small pork loin, something akin to a roast without being too big. Kurt has al these crazy seasonings on it that I wonder might be too much, but he reminds me that meat is different; it doesn't soak up the flavor unless you marinade it, so putting this much seasonings on top is just about right. He also reminds me that he's helped his step mother prepare the same meal before as a Christmas dinner one year, so he knows that he's doing.

"Be useful and peel some potatoes. Then cut them up into quarters and stick them in a pot of water to boil. We're going to have some garlic-and-sour-cream mashed 'taters tonight to go with this. And should we make the asparagus or the green beans?"

"Beans; my mom hates asparagus. And brussel sprouts. And anything remotely resembling that leafy, layered look, including lettuce and cabbage. She really only likes broccoli and green beans and carrots. Other veggies make her scrunch her nose," I inform him. I take four large golden potatoes, add a fifth small one for possible leftovers, and get busy peeling and chopping them up. Once they're on the stove but not turned on just yet, Kurt already has the pork in the oven and the frozen green beans in a pan with a little water, waiting for the right timing to cook them.

In about an hour, all of the food is finished. The green beans wound up getting sautéed at the end of their cooking with some onions until they "sweat" ("it's cooked through but not caramelized yet," Kurt tells me, but I still have no clue what he means), adding in some salt and black pepper. The roast looks perfectly juicy and tender, somehow, and the potatoes are nice and flavorful and not too starchy, and I really don't know how I helped or how Kurt managed all of this, but it's here and done and tasting like something out of a wet dream. – Uh, that is… it tastes awesome. Whatever.

I'm a little disturbed, though, when halfway through the meal, Kurt and my mom get talking. Seriously talking, about life and God (Kurt conveniently leaves out that he's an atheist to my mother; interesting) and… me. When the conversation shifts to me, I'm thankfully already done eating (they've been chatting too much to eat as quickly as I had), so with a flustered cough I take my leave from the table, stacking my dishes in the dishwasher and putting away the leftover food.

"Dave, remember that time we totally messed up during a run-through of Rent, and Bitch Lady had the absolute _best _peeved look on her face? And you mimicked it perfectly? Show your mom! It was just too funny for words, Mrs. Karofsky. He has a knack for copying people. He can even make fun of how someone walks down to a tee. It's genius, and comes in real handy for all the acting he does."

I blush a bit, glancing away, eyes trained on my task. "Uh. I don't know if I remember how to make that face," I lie, because I totally remember, but I just don't want to do it. My mom looks all expectant and it's just _weird _how much she's changed. It's been slow-building since I saw her last, I know, but…

"Oh, of course you do. You made that face a couple weeks ago when Bitch Lady came up in a convo with Mercedes over Skype. Come _ooon,_ Daaaave! Do it. Just this once. For me? For your _mom?_" Kurt coaxes, sending me that damn puppy-eyed stare, his hands folding together under his chin.

"_Fine,_" I grunt roughly. I roll my eyes. "Here. Watch carefully." And I scrunch up my face, my lips pouting slightly and my eyes narrowing, my brows arching but coming together.

My mother bursts into hysterical laughter, and I let my face fall back into its relaxed state. Around a few breaths, she sputters, "Oh my _God,_ David! That's just… far too funny for words! I didn't know you could do that. I could totally imagine some woman – I keep picturing her Latina with black hair and fake boobs, no clue why – looking exactly like that after making some snappy comment. Am I right?"

"Close enough to right," Kurt says to humor her. He mouths, '_Thanks'_ to me when my mom isn't looking. I simply mutter something under my breath and turn back to stacking the pots and pans in the sink to start washing. I always wash and Kurt always dries; it's how we do things whenever we actually cook.

The rest of the evening is pretty much the same: my mom slowly opening up and bonding with Kurt, and getting more and more snuggly with me, trying to literally worm her way back into my life to make up for her ignoring me for so long. I kind of don't mind, but part of me is getting a little annoyed. I love my mom and all, but she's distracting Kurt when _I _want his attention, and she keeps bringing up the absolute _worst _childhood memories of mine to use against me, making Kurt blush and laugh (at _me, _essentially) and coo over how cute I had been. And it's disgustingly humiliating.

But it all ends well. My mom is officially in love with the idea of me being with Kurt because he's such a damn charmer and so very irresistible (I of all people should know). And my mom decides to stay for the week, offering to go to a hotel after one night, but Kurt insisting she stay with us, and just when I think it's going to go all downhill from there… it doesn't.

My mom is actually okay with me now, even though I can tell she's already mourning a few losses. Like me having children. But with Quinn and Sam's wedding coming up, Kurt's been getting extremely antsy-romantic lately, and almost seems to be in a state of longing. So I'm thinking about asking him if he wants to try to adopt. I bet he would love to have a little girl to spoil. I want a son, of course, like any man does, but… a little girl would suit Kurt. He could dress her up and when she's older, do her makeup, and then talk to her about boys. It would be great for him, and I'd love to see him that happy. And, honestly, I sort of want to be a daddy. It would be nice to have another smiling face, another ball of energy flitting around the house.

In a few years, though. I don't think Kurt and I are old enough or sturdy enough in our jobs for a child, and it takes a few years for the adoption process to go through more often than not (_Juno _lied to me in that respect; it's not always as easy as it was for that young couple-turned-single to get a baby).

One night that week, when Kurt is out, I approach my mom with this idea. I need her motherly advice for this.

"I think it's a splendid idea," she beams at me. "And I'm not just saying that because I want grandchildren, although I can't lie and say that isn't part of the reason why I'm agreeing. But… I think you two would be wonderful parents, in a few years. And you both can make so much money off of all of these Broadway shows and independent films that paying for a child shouldn't be too terribly difficult. Quite manageable, actually. So I say go for it. When you're ready, of course. But talk to Kurt before you start really making plans."

So I do. After my mom takes her leave and promises to keep in touch, I take Kurt out to a nice place and propose the idea to him.

Kurt is numb with surprise for a moment, but soon his face is lighting up brighter than I ever think I've seen on him, dimples and all, and launches himself across the small table to hug me. "Yes! Yes, so much yes. I can tell you really thought about this, too. You're so sweet, Dave. I'm so lucky to have you."

And just hearing that alone makes everything worthwhile.


End file.
